


The Stars Inside

by terrible_titles



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4596117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrible_titles/pseuds/terrible_titles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A doomsday scenario</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stars Inside

Jean Luc Picard wondered, wandered, lonely through his ship, trailing fingers on the curved space which showed the darkness of time. A billion stars he'd never see, worlds he'd never discover. Guinan saw them all fading in his eyes, but he was already so far away from her she could do nothing but watch another in her long list of dying friends spark, then dissipate.

While William T. Riker sat alone in his room, a glass of brandy in hand that he didn't remember replicating. On the table in front of him lay all the things he thought made him--his trombone, his phaser, a deck of cards, the Queen piece of a chess set his mother used to have. His communicator. His vision blurred until the pieces of his puzzle were faded and incorporeal.

And Worf, son of Mogh, stood quietly in the holodeck, perusing a parade of weapons he was proficient with, none of which would save them now. He could not think of a single simulation he could tell the computer which would make him forget.

As for Dr. Beverly Crusher, she knew too well that no fantasy would shield them. Her deft fingers slowed over vials, slides, and keys. She was pragmatic, a realist. There was nothing out there that was not also within her, and therefore she could not be missing anything important. Nonetheless, it was a phantom pain she was familiar with.

But it was Wesley Crusher for whom thoughts numbed, slowed to a whisper. His fingers glided over his own partially-completed range of experiments, mild curiosities his mind had dreamed up. He used to find his intellect fragile, careful not to consume all his talent in excitement in case the old geniuses were right and you could spend yourself on idle pursuits in youth. Now, both nothing and everything seemed worthy of his time. Of him.

And though Data could access all the information he needed on space and time, he could not fathom waste.

And Geordi La Forge, who gazed around his engines, his warp core, all the things and the machines he loved, found that his throat would only close over the answer. 

Throughout all this, it was Deanna Troi who never knew loneliness, though she remained the only person on the bridge in a chair that never felt quite right, with a mind that never felt quite hers. The thrumming of emotion poured through her soul, a thick molasses, slow and deep. Her eyes remained focused ahead. She could hear all of them. She could hear him. She could hear _her_.

And Picard's false heart sounded the beats, the beats, the steady drum of space and time merging into one.


End file.
